Cold Case: Knock the Night Back Whence It Came (The Running on Empty Remix)
[ Justin/Valentino | PG-13 | 470 words ]
It’s cold out there, in the big bad world.
Original story: Knock the Night Back Whence It Came by theswearingkind, 668 words.
Remix author: tinheart
Knock the Night Back Whence It Came (The Running on Empty Remix)
It was cold, and the hallway stretched on forever.
“We need your help, son.”
Their footsteps echoed off the walls ungodly loud.
“We need you to look at something...”
A door that swings open and sucks the remaining heat away.
“You need to help us, tell us if this is your mom...”
And arm, just visible under a white sheet. White as your breath looks in front of your face.
“I know this isn’t going to be easy for you...”
And when they reach for the sheet, you run.
You’ve never stopped running since.
*
Things, all the silly stupid things that you miss. That you weren’t allowed to have. That they took away.
And the night is so cold you can’t stop shivering, can’t keep still. So you try and crawl into your roommate’s bed, but he calls you a fag and tells on you.
You spend the night on the floor in the hallway, which is colder.
*
You’re old enough now. You’ve got a pocket of cash you’ve managed to stash away, pack of luckies and a lighter, and eight pathetic little carnie tickets.
As you’re slipping out the window your roommate wakes up. Like a million other kids you’ve shared cramped little sterile rooms with. Faceless. Long ago you stopped memorizing their names.
“Where are you going?” He asks, but you know already by the tone of his voice it’s just a formality to snitching.
“Wanna come?” You ask, not because you want him to, but because you want him to want to. Because you want someone to want to come with you.
“I’m telling!” He shouts, amazingly childish in his donated pajamas.
So you run, and don’t bother looking back.
*
You had enough for a ticket, and not much else. So wherever it stops is the end of the line for you. And the vent is warm and the boy next to it doesn’t look as sneering on second glance as he did on first. And it’s cold enough that maybe you could stop running, just for tonight... just to be warm.
*
“Wanna come?” You ask, trying to feign your trendy indifference. But you want. And you don’t care how ridiculous it is... you don’t think one moment past getting to that field. Past seeing the horses again. And God but you want him to say yes. You don’t want him to ask how far, or for how long... you just want him to say yes.
But reality so rudely intrudes, and you do what you have to for one more night.
*
It’s cold. That guy didn’t warn you how cold it would be. You can’t move, you can’t feel your hands. You can’t even see your breath. It must be puffing white clouds.
You imagine you can still hear the music.
And you’ve finally stopped running.
It’s cold out there, in the big bad world.
Original story: Knock the Night Back Whence It Came by theswearingkind, 668 words.
Remix author: tinheart
Knock the Night Back Whence It Came (The Running on Empty Remix)
It was cold, and the hallway stretched on forever.
“We need your help, son.”
Their footsteps echoed off the walls ungodly loud.
“We need you to look at something...”
A door that swings open and sucks the remaining heat away.
“You need to help us, tell us if this is your mom...”
And arm, just visible under a white sheet. White as your breath looks in front of your face.
“I know this isn’t going to be easy for you...”
And when they reach for the sheet, you run.
You’ve never stopped running since.
*
Things, all the silly stupid things that you miss. That you weren’t allowed to have. That they took away.
And the night is so cold you can’t stop shivering, can’t keep still. So you try and crawl into your roommate’s bed, but he calls you a fag and tells on you.
You spend the night on the floor in the hallway, which is colder.
*
You’re old enough now. You’ve got a pocket of cash you’ve managed to stash away, pack of luckies and a lighter, and eight pathetic little carnie tickets.
As you’re slipping out the window your roommate wakes up. Like a million other kids you’ve shared cramped little sterile rooms with. Faceless. Long ago you stopped memorizing their names.
“Where are you going?” He asks, but you know already by the tone of his voice it’s just a formality to snitching.
“Wanna come?” You ask, not because you want him to, but because you want him to want to. Because you want someone to want to come with you.
“I’m telling!” He shouts, amazingly childish in his donated pajamas.
So you run, and don’t bother looking back.
*
You had enough for a ticket, and not much else. So wherever it stops is the end of the line for you. And the vent is warm and the boy next to it doesn’t look as sneering on second glance as he did on first. And it’s cold enough that maybe you could stop running, just for tonight... just to be warm.
*
“Wanna come?” You ask, trying to feign your trendy indifference. But you want. And you don’t care how ridiculous it is... you don’t think one moment past getting to that field. Past seeing the horses again. And God but you want him to say yes. You don’t want him to ask how far, or for how long... you just want him to say yes.
But reality so rudely intrudes, and you do what you have to for one more night.
*
It’s cold. That guy didn’t warn you how cold it would be. You can’t move, you can’t feel your hands. You can’t even see your breath. It must be puffing white clouds.
You imagine you can still hear the music.
And you’ve finally stopped running.